The
entire premise of Sonora Symphony is the agony felt caused by the
unseen scars of traumatic events. In this case, it is the loss of
memory of a veteran of horrible events during combat in Afghanistan.
Ray
Daniels awoke in a hospital with no idea of who he was, where he was
from, and if there was anyone else in his life. All the prodding and
pills from the doctors were unhelpful and he finally had enough. He
went Absent Without Leave and we find him in the following situation
– the opening passages of the novel:
CHAPTER
ONE
The
Tufesa motor coach speeds through the blackness of the desert
night
An
Anglo, wearing a soldier's jacket, sits in the right front seat,
blankly staring ahead at the highway dominated by the broken white
line. He seems hypnotized, gazing into some place nobody else sees.
The
bus that moves Latinos across the southwest stops at Las Cruces. The
Anglo rouses a bit when the driver gathers his things and removes a
bag from the overhead compartment. Another driver steps in, greeting
the man he's replacing with a happy, “Hola.” The
new driver checks the passengers, eyes opening a bit when he sees the
only Anglo among eighteen Mexicans.
“Got
on in Colorado Springs,” the first driver tells his relief,
referring to the Anglo.
“Got off with the rest in Albuquerque
but did not have anything other than a glass of water.”
The
new driver stares at the Anglo's military jacket and shrugs. “Seems
harmless to me.” He slides into the seat and closes the door
and pulls out onto the highway.
After
a timeless drive through the night, lights reflecting off the bottom
of sparse clouds announce a large city, a roadside sign indicating
South Tuscon.
The
driver notices how hard the Anglo's hands grip the bar in front of
him as the bus brakes to enter the big truck stop.
Even
at that hour of the morning, the pumps are filled with big rigs. The
driver parks not far from the entrance and announces, “Cuarenta-cinco
minutos descanso,” a forty-five minute stop. The passengers
gather their belongings and make their way into the truck stop.
The
Anglo doesn't move.
Seeing
the man still in his seat, the driver comes back aboard and says,
“Hey, Sarge. You have to get off here. I must lock the bus.”
He has to repeat himself before the Anglo rouses.
The
Anglo gathers up his duffel bag and gets off.
“I
will have them make an announcement when it is time to go.” The
driver locks the door and walks inside, leaving the Anglo standing
beside the bus.
Staff
Sergeant Ray Daniels stands there for several minutes, staring down
at the pavement. Without raising his head, he stalks forward,
carefully placing one foot in front of the other in a precise
military cadence. He searches the pavement for recent patches –
signs of improvised explosive devices.
A
big triple-trailer rig pulls out of the fueling area and the driver
sounds the air horn to awaken the figure walking directly in front of
him.
Ray
doesn’t look up, continuing his march to nowhere.
The
driver manages to slow so the pedestrian in his way passes unharmed.
Ray
approaches the highway and strides ahead, looking neither right nor
left.
A
speeding car's horn blares, the driver slamming on his breaks,
followed by the urgent squeal of times. The car swerves and just
misses the figure in the headlights. The driver angrily slams his
hand on the horn as he gains speed and turns onto the interstate.
A
flashing blue, green, and yellow glow of neon comes from a small
building beyond a vacant parking lot. A sign announces “Martin’s
Diner – Open Day and Night.”
Ray
stops and looks around, aware for the first time that he doesn't know
where he is.
Strange
buzzing and crackling attracts Ray's attention and he looks up. A
frenzy of swirling insects surround the halogen lamps, other
creatures swooping in to feast upon the tornado of life.
Ray
turns back to the small building, its bright lights drawing him. He
picks up his pace. He opens the door and stops at the sign inside
that says, “Seat Yourself.”
When
he just stands there for several moments, the waitress tells him,
“Sit wherever you want. We aren't exactly busy.”
Ray
shyly smiles and makes his way to the first booth.
After
setting his duffel bag on the seat and sliding in, Ray places his
hands limply on the table top. He stares out the window.
“Care
to order something?” The waitress places a glass of ice water
in front of him, turns over his coffee cup, and fills it.
Ray
blankly gazes at her, unsure of where he is or what she asked him. He
looks out the window without responding.
The
waitress shrugs and walks to the last window booth, refilling the
coffee cup of the wizened old man sitting there. She shakes her head.
“He seems sober, Poppi.”
“Give
him a few minutes, Hija. He may just be tired from the bus
ride.” Joe Redmond had watched the bus arrive. The truck stop
serves as a transfer point for a number of bus lines catering to
Mexicans and others coming and going across the border. That’s
why he was surprised to see the Anglo, wearing a military jacket, get
off. He watched his progress across the lot and highway, almost
jumping to his feet each time the man barely avoided injury or death.
He didn't because he knew he couldn't accomplish anything. “His
spirit guides are watching over him,” he told the hound lying
at his feet.
The
stranger didn’t stagger. His pace was steady and measured. He
moved as if seeking something on the ground ahead of each footstep.
The
way he moved brought a vague memory to Joe. “He's searching for
land-mines,” Joe whispered.
And,
now that he's close, Joe can see the man’s eyes. They should be
the windows to his soul. But the blinds are closed. Joe sighs. Those
empty eyes strike a hammer blow to his gut.
Anna
Maria sets the coffee carafe on the table and slides into the booth
across from him, aware that he's disturbed about something. “You
okay, Poppi?”
Joe
reaches out for the cup in front of Anna Marie and turns it over, a
sign he has something to tell her. She fills it and, when she sips a
bit of the coffee, Joe speaks.
“Hija,
you know I’ve never told you about my military service. But
that man reminds me of something.”
Anna
Maria smiles and touches his hand. “You don’t need to if
you don’t want to, Poppi.”
Joe
returns the smile.
“A
Special Forces A-Team’s base camp not far from the village of A
Xan in the central highlands of South Vietnam came under attack by a
large group of North Vietnamese regulars. The team sent out an urgent
call for help and I went in on one of the five Hueys sent to relieve
it. Four Cobra gun ships escorted us. When we got there, I jumped
from the chopper and there were bodies everywhere.”
Joe
pauses, finding it hard to explain to his daughter the horror he
faced. After sipping his coffee, he continues.
“I
saw a Muong woman cradling her blood-drenched dead baby, swaying and
keening in grief. A lone American GI stood at the door of the command
bunker. He held a microphone with a dangling cord in one hand and an
empty M-16 in the other. His eyes screamed of the abomination he’d
just seen.”
Joe
sucks in a deep breath to shake off his memories. He nods towards the
man in the front booth. “Forty years later and that’s the
exact same look I see on that soldier’s face.”
Anna
Maria leans over to kiss her father’s forehead before going
back behind the counter.
“So,
boy, what should I do?” Joe speaks to Gogs, his old hound lying
on the floor next to the booth.
The
dog’s tail thumps before putting his head back on his paws.
“The
guy seems to have one heck of a problem. Maybe I ought to see if I
can cheer him up. Give him the lay of the land,” Joe says to
the hound – and himself.
The
fact that he cares about the man surprises Joe. Up to that moment,
he’d been deep within his own cesspool of sorrow for the loss
of his beloved Maria Alondra to cancer. In a horribly short time,
she’d gone from the lively, loving woman who’d been the
center of his life for nearly forty years to an emaciated shell,
slowly dying in agonizing pain. Nothing seemed to stop it.
Joe
spends time in the diner because he can’t tolerate being be
alone. His daughter carries herself the same, smiles the same, and
has her mother’s moods. Joe understands her presence eases his
sorrow...slightly. She too misses her mother but has a husband and a
son to look after – and now, a father.
Telling
Gogs, “Stay!” Joe picks up his coffee cup and walks to
the booth. “May I join you?”
The
soldier slowly returns from his void and looks up at the voice.
“Huh?” When Joe repeats the question, he shrugs and
watches Joe slide into the seat across the table.
“Hija,
our guest’s coffee is cold.”
Anna
Maria quickly brings a fresh cup of steaming coffee for the man and
the decanter to refill her father.'s “Care to order?” she
asks the newcomer.
The
man looks as blankly at her as he had at Joe. Anna Maria repeats
herself and he responds with a shrug, muttering, “I don’t
have any money.” He reaches into his pocket and lays some coins
on the table. They don’t add up to more than a couple of
dollars.
Joe
wonders about that. “When’s the last time you ate?”
“I,
uh, don’t know. Maybe yesterday.”
“We’ll
take care of that.” Joe cheerfully tells his daughter, “Bring
this gentleman a deluxe breakfast, Hija.”
The
man strains out of his lethargy to protest he can’t pay,
mumbling, “I don’t want to impose.”
Joe
waves that off. “You're military.”
The
soldier obviously searches for an answer.
Joe
offers his hand. “Name’s Joe Redmond.”
The
soldier looks at the hand for a moment before lifting his from the
table. His grip is surprisingly firm and Joe returns it. “Uh,
name’s Ray.”
“So
they tell me,” he softly adds.
Ray’s
camouflaged jacket has one patch above a pocket announcing US ARMY,
while the other says “DANIELS.” Three chevrons and a
rocker indicate the rank of staff sergeant and a subdued patch on the
left shoulder shows he’d served in combat with the
Eighty-Second Airborne Brigade in either Iraq or Afghanistan. The
Fourth Infantry Division patch on the right shoulder signifies his
current assignment.
The
outfit of sweats, athletic shoes, and wool skullcap were thrown
together without regard for military protocol. What on earth is he
doing here? There are no army bases for hundreds of miles. Joe
faintly remembers that the Fourth is somewhere in Texas or Colorado.
Anna
Maria arrives with a platter of eggs with a nice medium-rare top
sirloin steak, home fries, and toast. She refills Ray’s coffee
cup.
Ray
peers at the plate for several seconds before tentatively lifting the
fork to shove some eggs into his mouth. After the first bite, he
comes alive, digging in to satiate his hunger.
When
Ray pauses eating to sip his coffee, Joe asks, “Where ya
heading?”
The
cup abruptly halts halfway to his lips. Ray’s brow furrows.
“Don’t think I know.”
“Ya
all right?” Joe's filled with deep concern. “Need a
doctor?
Ray
jerks erect, anger flaring in his hazel eyes. “No dammit! No
more medics. I’ve had my fill of ’em.”
He
then nervously looks around.
“Relax,”
Joe soothes. “No need to get upset. Just eat.”
Gogs
uncurls himself from the floor next to the corner booth and comes
over to sniff at his alpha male’s companion.
Ray
absentmindedly puts the fork back on his plate and reaches down to
gently rub behind the animal’s ears. “Nice hound. Think I
had one once.”
Joe
sees that he’s obviously been badly hurt. And, knowing the
military, Joe guesses they’d probably kept him cooped up in a
hospital somewhere.
Ray
calms and cleans the plate, drinking another cup of coffee. He then
fumbles in his pockets, searching for something. He's unaware of the
meager pile of coins he’d placed on the table.
“I
told ya not to worry. Breakfast’s on me.”
Ray’s
eyes brighten briefly and he appears to be ready to ask a question.
Anna
Maria returns to fill their cups, so the question goes unasked.
